


Cut & Cover

by TrueIllusion



Series: Socially Distant in Schitt's Creek [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Banter, COVID-19, Coronavirus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Haircuts, M/M, Married Life, Patrick Brewer is a Troll, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Patrick Brewer makes everything okay, Post-Canon, Quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27589907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: David had known that coming to this barber shop was a bad idea.But his regular salon wasstillclosed due to the pandemic, and so were all of the other reputable salons in Elm County. He’d even tried to choose one of the more upscale barber shops -- the ones Stevie made fun of and said were ‘hipster pretentious.’ And it had seemed like everything was going well -- like he’d made a decent choice, or at minimum a better one than allowing Patrick to cut his hair at home in their bathroom -- at least until the cape was removed and the chair was turned around, and David first laid eyes on the worst haircut he’d had since high school.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Socially Distant in Schitt's Creek [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016830
Comments: 14
Kudos: 91





	Cut & Cover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [edie4711](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edie4711/gifts).



> Thank you, as always, to my usual pair of encouragers and beta readers, blackandwhiteandrose and PrettyTheWorld. <3
> 
> Prompted by Edie4711 in response to my request for a hurt/comfort prompt -- thanks for getting my brain moving!

David had known that coming to this barber shop was a bad idea.

But his regular salon was _still_ closed due to the pandemic, and so were all of the other reputable salons in Elm County. He’d even tried to choose one of the more upscale barber shops -- the ones Stevie made fun of and said were ‘hipster pretentious.’ And it had seemed like everything was going well -- like he’d made a decent choice, or at minimum a better one than allowing Patrick to cut his hair at home in their bathroom -- at least until the cape was removed and the chair was turned around, and David first laid eyes on the worst haircut he’d had since high school.

It was too short on the sides -- too short all over, really -- and the top had been styled into messy spikes, with way too much product, and not enough length to style into his usual pompadour. The whole thing was very off-brand, and not at all what he’d asked for, but it was too late. All there was left to do was pay the bill, leave enough of a tip to not look like an asshole, and try not to cry.

He managed to make it to the car before tears blurred his vision and he could feel his breaths becoming shorter… quicker… and the familiar tightness in his chest that always accompanied panic. But he couldn’t do that here… not now.

Actually, he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to do it later, because he knew Patrick wouldn’t understand. Patrick would tell him it was just hair. That it would grow back. That in a couple of weeks, he’d be good as new.

David knew that was true -- it would grow back, and in a couple of weeks, it would be closer to the length he preferred. But what was he supposed to do in the meantime?

Reaching into the back seat of Patrick’s car, David rummaged around until he located the navy blue knitted cap that had become a mainstay of Patrick’s wardrobe in the cooler months of their quarantine. Thankfully, it was a warm day, so Patrick had taken it off in the car before David dropped him off at the store that morning, and that meant David had something he could use to cover this… _monstrosity_. Of course, wearing someone else’s hat was also _incorrect_ , but he didn’t have much choice. At least not until he could get home to his own selection of grey and black ones in the top of their closet.

David pulled the hat onto his head and down far enough to nearly cover his ears in an effort not to expose any hair before he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and took a deep breath, then put the car in gear and left for Schitt’s Creek.

When David arrived at the store, it was impossible to miss the raised eyebrow and accompanying look of confusion on Patrick’s face as he first laid eyes on David.

“I thought you were going to get a haircut,” Patrick said, his brow beginning to furrow. “Why are you wearing my toque?”

David had known this was coming, and he’d spent the last forty-five minutes trying to prepare for it, attempting to come up with some sort of plausible excuse to wear a hat 24/7 for the next two weeks -- maybe three, to be safe. But he’d come up empty, and all he could do was tilt his gaze toward the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to conceal the panic he felt at knowing he was stuck feeling like an awkward 14-year-old again, at least until his hair grew back.

“David, what? What’s wrong?”

Patrick’s question prompted David’s hands to flail as he attempted to answer without allowing his voice to climb _too_ many octaves, lest Patrick think he’d married someone who couldn’t even handle a bad haircut without spiraling. “Let’s just say that I’m not sure _anyone_ should be exposed to this.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” In one far-too-quick motion, Patrick had rounded the counter and had his hands dangerously close to the toque, even managing to make contact before David swatted his hand away.

“No!” David’s voice was sharp and insistent, and at least an octave or two higher than he would have liked. But that was a close call, and Patrick’s hands were still on his shoulders, and those earnest eyes were staring straight at him, whiskey brown tinted with confusion and a hint of concern.

“What, did they shave your head or something?”

“No.”

“Okay, then what?”

“Nothing.”

“David.”

“Patrick.”

“You know I’m going to see it eventually, right?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“And just how long are you planning on wearing the hat?”

“Until it grows back.”

“That seems like an awfully long time.” Amusement began to dance in Patrick’s eyes as he looked up at David, a smug expression on his face.

“Well, unfortunately for you, I am nothing if not persistent.”

A chuckle escaped Patrick’s lips, accompanied by a knowing grin. “That I already knew.”

“Okay, then why are we still talking about this?”

“You’re seriously going to wear my toque for the next, what… month?”

“ _Month?!_ ”

“David, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“It is most certainly _not_ fine. And no, for your information, I will not be wearing _your_ toque for the next month. I’ll be wearing my own.”

One of Patrick’s eyebrows quirked up in that infuriating way he had, when he was so sure he was right about something and there was no way David would outlast him. “For a month.”

“Yes.” David tried to look smug. Determined. As if his insides weren’t a jumble of nervous energy, already dreaming up potential disasters that would no doubt befall him were anyone to lay eyes on his uncovered head.

Patrick sighed and shook his head as his hands slid down David’s arms, giving his hands a brief squeeze before letting him go. “Okay, David… fine. Suit yourself.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, now that you’re here, can you help me get some of those new shipping boxes down from the top shelf in the stockroom?”

“Mmmhmm, yep. Yes. I can do that.” David nodded, grateful for the change of subject as he pushed his way through the curtain to fetch the boxes Patrick had asked for. They spent the rest of the afternoon packing online purchases and bringing out the occasional curbside order before locking up for the day and heading back home.

David immediately went upstairs to shower, shampooing what felt like a massive amount of gel out of his hair before making a futile attempt at styling it himself. It was no use, though; it was just too short. And the close-shaved sides made it look like he should be shipping off to join the military any day now. With a frustrated sigh, David tugged a black knitted cap over his freshly dried hair before sliding on his favorite pair of slippers and going back downstairs.

Patrick had made spaghetti and meatballs -- one of David’s favorite comfort foods -- and, thank god, didn’t say a word about the hat or David’s hair all through dinner and an evening of binge watching old episodes of _The Golden Girls_.

It wasn’t until they were climbing into bed that Patrick let out yet another heavy sigh, leveling David with an incredulous look.

“You’re really going to wear it to bed, too?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“Well, no, but--”

“Okay then. G’night.” David leaned in to kiss Patrick before rolling over onto his other side, tugging the blanket snug around his shoulders.

One thing he hadn’t accounted for, however, was just how fucking _hot_ and _itchy_ it was to wear a hat to bed. After a few minutes of tossing and turning and scratching, David heard Patrick sigh again.

“What?!” David demanded, trying his best to sound suitably perturbed at the way his husband could say ‘I told you so’ without even uttering a single word.

“David, just take the hat off. Otherwise, neither one of us is going to get any sleep tonight. I know you; I’m sure you’re burning up in that thing.”

Patrick wasn’t wrong; as much as David loved sweaters, hats weren’t his favorite because they always made him feel overheated. Not to mention the detrimental effects on his hair. Although he supposed that was a moot point now.

“David,” Patrick repeated, his voice gentler this time. “Please. I promise I won’t say anything. You can take the hat off.”

For a moment, David considered being obstinate, purely for the sake of holding out until he ended up being the one who was right, but he was tired and his head itched and he could already feel sweat starting to form on his brow.

“C’mon, David. I promise. Not a word.”

His teeth already worrying his lower lip, David looked away as he pulled the knitted cap off his head, sure that his hair probably looked even more atrocious now than it had after his shower, because _hat hair_.

“It’s not that bad,” Patrick said softly, reaching out to run his fingers through David’s hair. “Actually, I think you look sexy.”

“You promised not to say anything.”

“I’m giving you a compliment.”

“Well, I don’t need your pity.”

“I mean it, David. You’re beautiful. You’re always beautiful. Even without your poofy hair.”

“It’s not _poofy_ ; it’s a pompadour. And it’s my signature style.”

“Okay, so you’re gonna be trying something different for a while… What’s so bad about that? Especially when no one is seeing you but me, and _I_ think it’s sexy…” Patrick’s voice suddenly went low and sultry as he leaned in for a kiss, his tongue swirling around David’s before he pulled back, those earnest brown eyes of his now dark and glistening with want. His fingers had already found their way back to David’s hair, tugging on it in the way that never failed to turn David on.

A groan escaped David’s lips before he could stop it, his head tilting back against the pillows as Patrick captured his lips once again, this time harder. Wanting. Needing. And if David was being honest, he needed it too.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Patrick murmured, his lips and tongue tracing a path down David’s neck as his hands brushed David’s waist, then pushed his pajama top up and over his head. Once David’s chest was bare, Patrick’s attention turned to his body, quickly clearing David’s mind of everything he’d been worried about as Patrick continued to whisper sweet nothings in between kisses.

Slowly, Patrick’s mouth wandered further down, engulfing David in a wet heat that made it impossible to think about anything other than the intense waves of pleasure that were coursing through his body. Once he’d tipped over the edge, Patrick kissed his way back up David’s torso before settling onto his back and tugging David into the spot between his shoulder and chest where he just _fit_.

“Do you believe me now?” Patrick whispered, his fingers once again tangling themselves in David’s hair, seemingly of their own accord.

“Well, you do present a _very_ convincing case…” David let his voice trail off, one side of his mouth curling up into a contented smile as he settled into his husband’s arms, eyelids already heavy with sleep.

Maybe the next month wouldn’t be quite so bad after all.


End file.
